Watching
a new adaptation of Thomas Hardy's 1874 novel in 2015 is to be reminded that the
template for romantic melodrama is much older than the stuff of contemporary
Hollywood. It's present in Far from the
Madding Crowd in the form of two people who are clearly destined for each
other, a series of complications beyond the control of the inevitable lovers
that divide them, and the constant reminder that a few words of unspoken honesty
and affection would go far in avoiding the whole mess. One would be
hard-pressed, though, to think of a Hollywood romance that features such
grotesqueries as the sight of a flock of sheep taking a collective swan dive off
a cliff or one of the romantic leads tearing the lid from a casket to reveal a
dead woman cradling her lifeless newborn.

Even
140 years after the novel's first publication, we can appreciate the daring of
some of the particulars of Hardy's narrative. There are the aforementioned
scenes of horror. There's the scandal of pastoral life seen as a cesspool of
sex, betrayal, and occasional violence (by the standards of Victorian morality,
mind you).

Most
importantly, there's the romantic heroine. She is an independent woman, named
after a famous adulteress from the Bible, who not only succeeds in a man's world
but also, much like her namesake, is (eventually) rewarded for ignoring
society's standards. Granted, that reward arrives after much personal misery, a
fair number of casualties, and accepting a traditional happy ending after
spending years insisting she would do no such thing (In that last part, she is
the spiritual forebear of so many female protagonists of Hollywood
romances—the professional woman who just wants/needs a man to really find
fulfillment).

It's
difficult to think of a reason for this adaptation to exist, beyond the event of
an arbitrary anniversary of the book's publication and the fact that it's been a
while since the previous adaptation, and that perhaps says it best about this
movie. The movie is dutiful, sure, in that the plot remains intact. Under the
direction of Thomas Vinterberg, it's also striking from a visual standpoint,
with wide shots of the English countryside at various times of the day and
naturally lit interiors that often only allow us to see the bright faces of the
characters.

A sense
of duty and a desire to create pretty pictures, though, aren't exactly
compelling reasons to mount a cinematic adaptation of a celebrated novel. This
feels more like an obligation.

The
heroine is Bathsheba Everdene (Carey Mulligan), an orphan raised by well-to-do
relatives, who has found contentment in living a rustic lifestyle on a farm 200
miles outside of London. She does the manual labor of the farm. She rides
astride her horse. She speaks her mind. Gabriel Oak (Matthias Schoenaerts), a
neighboring shepherd, spots her while she's riding and is instantly taken by her
way. After a few meetings, he proposes marriage, and she laughingly declines.
She has no interest in marrying anybody.

Their
fortunes turn—his for the worse, after the previously mentioned scene
involving the sheep, and hers for the better, after she inherits her uncle's
once-prosperous farm in a nearby village. Bathsheba plans to run the farm on her
own and return it to its former glory. Gabriel wanders the countryside looking
for work and ends up employed at her farm. Whatever affection he had for her
must remain silent as Bathsheba is courted by two different men: the earnest and
humorless William Boldwood (Michael Sheen, offering the movie's best performance
as a vulnerable man who sees his last chance for happiness constantly elude
him), who does nothing for her, and the roguish army officer Francis Troy (Tom
Sturridge), who excites her with his skill with his sword (surely a scandal).

The
screenplay by David Nicholls hurriedly moves from one plot point to the next,
providing little time for any of the characters to breathe before some new
problem arrives to put a damper on their lives. As a result, the characters are
solidly defined but vaguely colored. We expect this from our melodramas, so it's
not too much of an issue in the big picture. It helps that the performances are
strong, particularly Mulligan as a woman ahead of her time and Schoenaerts as
someone who suffers in silence without succumbing to emotional martyrdom.

It
might be easy to accept that the plot will take focus over the characters, but
that doesn't make it easier to digest. The pattern (problem followed by
temporary solution followed by more problems and less tenable solutions) becomes
repetitive, since there's no buffer of significant character development or
moments to prevent the plot from overwhelming all else (One, however, must also
remember that the novel first appeared in serialized form, meaning Hardy would
have been constructing his plot partially under the mindset of needing to compel
readers to return month after month). It's never laughable, despite some of the
more sensationalistic elements of the story, but it does become frustratingly
simplistic.

That's
unfortunate, because it's obvious that a lot of care has been put into this
production. Far from the Madding Crowd
is, perhaps, a victim of the passage of time. What was bold at the novel's
inception is now commonplace in movie form.